Chapter 17
Vanessa
“Thanks again for joining me,” I say to Jason as we climb the staggered walkway leading to my coworker’s home. “I’m meeting some of these people for the first time, and it’ll be nice to know a friendly face is near.”
“Not a problem. I’m always game for hanging out with you.”
Why, Jason? Why? I’ve been nothing but annoying as fuck around you.
“Another thing,” I say, “if I don’t immediately introduce you to someone, it might be because I forgot their name or never knew it in the first place. If you could—”
“Vanessa, relax. You’re here to get to know your colleagues. And have a little fun. I’ll introduce myself if I need to.”
“Right. Okay. I can do this.” I raise the bottles of rosé in my hands. “And when all else fails, liquor is an excellent icebreaker.”
Jason playfully jostles the bowl of potato salad he made. “And if that doesn’t work, my world-famous potato salad will do the trick.”
“I can’t believe you went to all that trouble. When I hear potluck, I think wine. Or chips and dip.”
“It’s a cookout, Vanessa. Potato salad is always the way to go.”
“Well, Lisa tells me you’re a fantastic cook, so I know it’s going to be a winner.”
“Trust me, you’re gonna love it.”
“So what’s in the bag?”
“The extras. The mayo always gets absorbed in the potatoes during transit, so I bring extra dressing to add when we’re ready to eat. Along with some delicious mix-ins.”
“Sounds tasty. You’re going to make me look good just by association.”
“I sure hope so,” he says cheerfully.
When we reach the top of the steps, we take the path to a side gate and follow signs to the backyard. It’s huge, an expanse of meticulously manicured grass enclosed by a black wrought-iron fence, with a playset in the corner and a dozen Adirondack chairs sprinkled around two large picnic tables.
After a dizzying round of introductions among the twenty or so guests, Jason and I help ourselves to Arnold Palmers made with fresh lemonade and cold-brewed iced tea. Not long after, Julie Cho, our host, waves her hands in the air in a bid to get everyone’s attention.
Charles, the manager of our new office, who I’m delighted to learn is Black because it means I won’t be the “only,” uses his booming voice to help her out. “All right, people. Julie’s on the mic.”
“I appreciate that, Charles.” She positions herself between the picnic tables.
“Hey, all. I’m not going to take up a lot of time with speeches.
I just wanted to take a moment to acknowledge how thrilling it is to be opening this new office with you.
Meridian Financial is going to make its mark in the New York market, and I hope you’re all as proud as I am to be a part of this exciting new venture.
Yes, there will be ups and downs ahead, but we’ve got a good group here, and I know we’re ready to handle whatever challenges come our way.
For the moment, though, enjoy the amazing food you all brought, take advantage of the games set up in the far corner of the yard, and definitely get yourselves some wine because I purchased enough to fully stock a cocktail lounge.
The buffet is open. Now, let’s grub and get to know one another. ”
A few people raise their cups and say “Hear, hear,” while others head straight for the buffet line.
Jason uses this as his cue to prep his potato salad, which has been on ice since we arrived.
“He’s a fantastic cook,” I say to the white woman next to me. She’s an HR manager, if memory serves. Barb’s her name, I think. “People are going to be asking for the recipe as soon as they get a taste.”
“I’m glad he made it, then,” Charles says, watching the preparations. “Potato salad is no joking matter. Can’t just let anyone bring it.”
“So true,” Jason says, grinning. “Let me just add a little bit more of this mayo dressing, and we’ll be all set.” He folds in the dressing with a spoon, and then he snaps his fingers. “Almost forgot the mix-ins.”
“Mix-ins?” Charles asks skeptically. “That doesn’t sound right.”
“Don’t worry, I got this. Been making this family recipe for years, and it’s always a hit.”
With a flourish, Jason whips out Ziploc bags of different foods—peaches, raisins, sunflower seeds—and adds them to the salad. Oh no, are those bacon bits?
“Oh hell no,” Charles mutters. “You need spices, mayo, mustard, paprika. Maybe onions. Maybe.”
“Give it a shot, man,” Jason says. “You might surprise yourself.”
My eyes go wide when my gaze lands on the last plastic bag. Are those Skittles? M&M’s? Oh my God, this is a nightmare.
“Peanut M&M’s,” Jason says. “For extra crunch.”
“What the hell are you making?” Charles asks. “A fucked-up ice cream sundae?”
“I’m telling you, it’s good. Yeah, it’s a bit unconventional, but the flavor profile works. You just need to be adventurous. Right, Vanessa?”
“Uh, yeah, sure. It all sounds so yummy. Can’t wait to try it.”
“No waiting necessary,” he says with way more cheer than is warranted. “Since you’re lucky enough to know the cook, you get to try it first.”
“Oh, that’s okay. Potato salad is so, uh, filling. I was going to grab some my second time through the buffet.”
“What? No way. And miss the chance to try some? We can’t have that. Because I’m telling you, it’s not going to last very long.” He takes a plastic spoon and scoops a heaping portion of potato salad. “Say ahh.”
I want to duck and run away, but what would my colleagues think? I’ve already talked up Jason’s cooking to everyone. Shit. How was I supposed to know making potato salad is his apparent kryptonite? All the ingredients are familiar to me, so it can’t be that bad, right?
“C’mon, Vanessa,” Jason prompts. “You’re holding up the line, sweetie.”
I close my eyes and open my mouth. Jason makes the sound of an airplane and spoon-feeds me his potato salad surprise.
Oh God, what is this? The flavor that hits my tongue reminds me of that period during my childhood when I inhaled whatever was in front of me.
When foods melded together because I ate them so quickly.
There’s so much going on in my mouth right now, and it’s zero percent pleasant.
It’s like I have flavored nuts and rusty bolts and screws being tossed around in there.
“How does it taste?” Jason asks.
I open my glistening eyes to see him looking at me hopefully. “So good,” I say, still chewing. “Is there water, though? I’m a little parched.”
“Here,” Jason says, handing me a cup. “Take mine.”
You’re brave, Charles mouths behind Jason’s back.
“Want more?” Jason asks.
“No! Um, what I mean is, I’d rather everyone else get a chance to taste it. I’m just going to run to the bathroom real quick. I’ll be sure to get some more salad the next go-round.”
Now I’m the one scrambling as if the bogeyman’s chasing me.
When I return from the bathroom a few minutes later, I spy Jason chatting with Charles and make my way over to them.
I glance at Jason’s plate, which is piled high with a serving from every dish at the cookout.
Except his world-famous potato salad. That bastard.
I should have known he was up to something.
“Hey, Charles, I need to steal Jason for a minute.”
“No problem,” Charles says, bowing as he steps back.
“What’s up?” Jason says. “Everything okay?”
“I refuse to believe that’s your usual potato salad recipe.”
He looks at me innocently, but I’m not convinced.
“Why? You didn’t like it?”
“It had peanut M&M’s in it. What the hell, Jason?”
His dark brown eyes crinkle at the corners. “I might have tweaked it a bit.”
“Why?” I stare at him a moment, and then it hits me: “Oh, you’re devious. To pay me back for the flash mob, am I right?”
“Exactly.”
“What’s the big deal, though? I thought it was a sweet gesture.”
“Did you now? Is that why you were laughing your ass off? Nu-uh, you were getting me back for the Jumbotron incident.”
“Was not. It was your birthday, and I wanted to do something special. That’s all.”
He steps in front of me, overwhelming my senses with his presence. “Look me in the eyes, Vanessa.”
Oh God, this is hard. The angles of his face, the cleft in his chin, those pouty lips. How can I pretend to not be affected by this man? I sway on my feet as I battle my desire to lean into him. Somehow I manage to remain aloof. “Okay, I’m looking.”
“Can you honestly say that you arranged that flash mob because you thought I’d enjoy it?”
“I—”
“Wait. Before you answer…” He takes three giant steps back. “Just want to be sure I’m not collateral damage when you get struck by lightning.”
I fall over with mock laughter, then quickly straighten, my face deadpan. “Har har, you’re so funny…and heartless.”
“No, I’m practical. Now, what’s your answer?”
“Yes, okay, I did it to annoy you,” I say, unable to hold back my smile. “And because I thought maybe you’d get a kick out of it too.”
His eyes go soft, and I’m momentarily dazzled by this version of him.
He takes three giant steps forward, landing directly in front of me, then he flicks one of my curls. “Thanks for being honest.”
“You’re welcome.”
“But I’m not sure the potato salad is enough payback for the flash mob.”
“Bring it.”
“I don’t do dance battles,” he says.
I tilt my head. “What?”
“You said ‘bring it.’ Sounds like you’re challenging me to a dance battle. Am I wrong?”
“Oh God, what am I going to do with you?” I ask, throwing up my hands in fake frustration.
He gives me a silly grin. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. And in the meantime, let me make amends.”
“Amends for what?”
“The Great Potato Salad Incident.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
“We are.”
“Okay, so how do you propose to make it up to me?”
“I’m cooking dinner for the family Thursday night. At Cami’s place. A sort of send-off for her before all the wedding chaos begins. Your sister will be there too. Join us.”
“Are you sure you want me there?”
“I’m sure. But there’s a catch.”
“Okay…”
“I need you to be my sous chef.”
“That’s not a good idea. Trust me, I’m a terrible cook.”